


Expiry Date

by lOgIn_hAs_alREAdy_bEeN_tAkeN



Series: Runt Jason! [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Runt!Jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22013533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lOgIn_hAs_alREAdy_bEeN_tAkeN/pseuds/lOgIn_hAs_alREAdy_bEeN_tAkeN
Summary: Right in the middle of Jason's Under the Red Hood scheme, the Lazarus Pit decides to wear off and Jason is back to his old short and lean body that still bears the marks of childhood undernourishment. It gets even worse when Dick finds him and decides to chase him across Gotham's rooftops.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: Runt Jason! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634488
Comments: 13
Kudos: 179





	Expiry Date

**Author's Note:**

> okay so im shit at explaining but basically, i was thinking was you know how captain america got that super soilder serum and he used to be real skinny before that but now (not after endgame tho) he's really muscly? what if the lazarus pit acted in a similar way and something caused jason to be 'de-serumed/de-lazarus pit' and he got really skinny again? 
> 
> this is the result...

Despite what Bruce was going to say when Dick got chewed out for this later.

Dick hadn’t _meant_ to find Red Hood.

He’d just gotten lucky.

Dick had been patrolling through Gotham (despite Alfred’s explicit order to go home and rest his ankle), when he’d caught sight of that notorious red helmet ducking down into an alleyway two rooftops away.

It would have been stupid to pass up an opportunity like that.

So, now, Dick was crouched – mindful of his injury – precariously on the edge of a building, watching as Hood, who wore what looked like a three sizes too big version of his normal getup, climbed up onto a closed dumpster lid. 

Strange, Dick remembered him being tall enough to have easily slid onto something of that height.

Oblivious to his secret watcher on the rooftop opposite, Hood grumbled quietly to himself, shrugging his leather jacket back up his shoulders as his hands came up to the helmet’s edges.

Dick had been _really_ fucking lucky this time; the man was going to reveal his identity. A smug grin slid onto Dick’s face as the man’s loosely gloved fingers found the helmet’s release trigger. 

Strange, Dick remembered his gloves having way less excess material. 

The helmet came off easily and Dick’s face slid into neutrality as he squinted to see the other’s face in the faint yellowed light. It was times like this Dick wished he had the high tech rendering of Batman’s cowl. Hood kept his head low, setting his helmet beside him as he reached back toward his face.

Without the helmet muffling his voice Dick could hear faint murmurs coming from below, “… Stupid pit wearing off right in the middle of my fucking operation, fucking pain in my shrunk ass…”

Dick’s head cocked to the side at that last bit. The Red Hood had shrunk? That would probably explain the baggy clothing.

But still,

Strange.

Dick shrugged slightly to himself. It wouldn’t make much difference overall, _might_ even out the playing field with Dick’s injury since he _highly_ doubted Hood would take it easy on him.

A glimpse of reflective white, told him the man was wearing a domino beneath the Hood. Dick would have snorted at the level of overkill if a car hadn’t gone past at the exact moment the mask had been peeled off. The car’s headlights offering both clarity and anguish to the situation because Dick _recognised_ that face.

That was his _dead_ little brother’s face.

Dick couldn’t hold back a gasp – or was it a sob? – as he saw the boy that had haunted his dreams for the past five years. The brother he had then only recently been coming to terms with having, the scared child he had yelled at when Dick first saw him in _his_ colours, the boy who had died in that warehouse five years ago waiting for a saviour who would never make it in time.

Subconsciously, Dick’s mind began to race through possible explanations. It couldn’t be Jason, he had _died,_ five years ago, in an explosion. Dick had seen photos of the body. _Bruce_ had seen the body.

They had _buried_ Jason.

Perhaps it was a shapeshifter trying to take down Gotham’s bats, knowing they would have trouble fighting someone who looked like Jason. But then why wear a helmet? Why use an older face?

It could be a clone, but that theory could be defeated by the same argument for the shapeshifter. There hadn’t been an interdimensional activity in around 7 months, so whoever they were was definitely from this Earth. They had dealt with resurrection before, but for Jason to come back would be too good.

It _couldn’t_ be Jason.

But it didn’t matter because the boy – Jason? – had heard him.

Hood’s head had shot up at Dick’s cry, narrowed, green-tinged eyes that should have been breathtakingly blue, staring dead at Dick through a curtain of dark hair, only broken by a brilliant streak of white through the middle of his fringe.

The face staring up at him had barely changed, the vestiges of baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. But now scars littered Jason’s skin, most notably the badly healed, puckered mark at the edge of his hairline, just below his cheekbone.

The cheekbone that had been completely and irreparably _shattered_ when they buried him. 

Dick nearly cried.

It _was Jason._

How old was he now? When had he come back to life? The boy in front of _couldn’t_ be older than 18. As Dick puzzled over this the city around him was silent, for a moment, nothing moved, everything was still, but nothing ever stayed quiet for long if _Jason_ was involved.

Dick hadn’t forgotten that.

Barely a minute later and the helmet was back on, Jason’s grappling hook was shooting off in the opposite direction. Dick swore, he had wasted precious seconds simply watching him. He needed to find his brother. He needed to know what had happened to him.

What had happened to his beautiful baby brother?

Dick moved on autopilot, firing his own grappling hook in the same direction as Jason as he triggered the distress beacon on his hip, the momentum of the swing propelling him forward and catching him up. He barely even felt his ankle protesting, fuelled by desperation and longing.

He couldn’t lose him again.

A heavy beat echoed into the night as Jason thudded across the rooftops, barely ten feet ahead of him, breath harsh and loud through the modulator, footsteps hard and unforgiving. His movements lacked any grace, the Kevlar sagging and heavy, helmet bobbing strangely on a head smaller than it was designed for. 

But that didn’t matter right now, Dick could find out why his little brother had seemingly shrunk when he’d caught him. When his little brother was safe and secure and wrapped in as many blankets as possible. _Then,_ they could talk about what had happened in the last five years, _why_ he was doing this.

Why he hadn’t come home.

Dick’s chest clenched tightly, so many potential answers – he _really_ hoped none of the ones he’d thought of were true – ran through his head as he saw Jason stop at the edge of the rooftops, the next building too tall to jump onto.

His helmet flew off his face at the sudden halt and he spun to catch it before it fell. Dick saw it all happen in slow motion as Jason’s oversized boot caught beneath him, as Jason overbalanced, as Jason fell over the edge.

As Jason’s grappling hook _missed._

Adrenaline and fear – _he couldn’t lose him again_ – pounded through Dick’s veins, a burst of speed propelling him over the edge, arms reaching downward to the falling figure.

Jason was facing the ground, not even looking at Dick as he caught the stupid red helmet, holding it to his chest as he braced for an impact that would undoubtably – _he couldn’t lose him again he couldn’t lose him again –_ kill him. Dick stretched as far as he could; one hand just _barely_ missing a swipe at the back of Jason’s upper arm, the other firing his grappling hook.

He caught him.

A choked gasp accompanied Dick’s yelp as the grappling line snapped taught, jarring the both of them suddenly. Small shallow bursts of air escaped him as Dick’s left shoulder protested harshly at the sudden stop.

It didn’t feel dislocated though. Carefully, Dick engaged the hook’s retracting mechanism, pulling both his and Jason’s weight back to whatever point he’d managed to snag a line on.

But the fight wasn’t over.

It never was with Jason.

The boy in question thrashed in his grip, oversized, gloved hands clawed harmlessly at Dick’s grip. Dick grunted, shifting their combined weight as they got closer to the end of the line.

“Y’know Little Wing,” He grunted again, “It’d be a lot easier for both of us if you could stop squirming.”

Jason seemed to still momentarily – most likely due to the nickname rather than actually listening to him – before starting an even bigger ruckus than before.

“Don’t call me that freak! I’m not fucking little anymore.”

Dick let out a non-committal grunt, trying not to show how much hearing Jason’s clear, un-altered voice affected him. It had deepened since he’d last heard it, but it was still _Jason_ and that was a miracle in itself.

Jason was _alive._ Maybe not in the best place mentally, but that was fixable. As long as his heart was beating, there was a chance for reconciliation.

Dick wouldn’t let anything change that.

“Your weight seems to disagree with that notion Little Wing.”

“Fuck off dickface.” Jason snarled up at him, twisting his leg to kick at Dick’s injured ankle, “Not my fucking fault the Lazarus Pit has an expiry date.”

Dick nearly dropped him.

“The _what?!”_

Jason shrugged defensively. He probably hadn’t wanted to tell Dick that.

“That’s how you came back?!” Dick questioned, looking incredulously down at him, “The Lazarus Pit?!”

The boy in his grip went rigid, ignoring Dick’s question.

Dick’s heart sung and ached in near equal measure for his brother. He’d come back after being taken too soon, but it had cost him so much. Dick knew the effects of the Lazarus Pit, he’d seen it first hand, he knew about the _rage_ that came from those pits. The pain and anger that filled the place where love used to sit.

But Jason had said it wore off.

Was he still effected by the rage?

Was anything else going to wear off?

Was Jason safe?

That question spurred Dick to speed up the grappling hook, shooting them up to the balcony he’d caught. He quickly scanned what lay beyond the balcony’s door, finding it devoid of any furniture or possessions that indicated anybody lived there.

Jerkily, he pushed himself up onto the balcony, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he pulled Jason up.

He needed to call Bruce so they could get Jason back to the cave as soon as possible and make sure Jason wasn’t at risk of dying _again._

But first he needed Jason secured.

While he’d been joking about Jason’s light weight before, the kid was still pretty heavy – Dick swore he was made of _pure_ fucking muscle – a curse left Dick’s lips as he hefted him onto the balcony. The _second_ Jason’s feet touched solid ground, he slid into a fighting stance, probably preparing to throw Dick over the side.

But Dick was faster.

Before Jason could even think about throwing a punch, Dick had him pinned against balustrade, the cold metal – even if Jason couldn’t feel its temperature through all that Kevlar – digging into the front of his abdomen as his toes scrapped at the ground.

“Put me the fuck down Dickface.” Jason growled, legs kicking backwards – just too short to reach Dick – as he tried to twist out of the hold.

“Sorry Jay, but I can’t let you run off so soon.” Dick said as he pushed up Jason’s too long sleeves to make room for the cuffs he kept hidden away in his suit.

“Asshole! Let me go!” Jason said, squirming with renewed vigour as he heard the metallic clink of cuffs behind him.

Jason never went down without a fight.

A nostalgic smile crept onto Dick’s face as he easily dodged a well-aimed headbutt, memories of sparring in the cave filtered through his head.

Once one cuff was on, Dick spun him around suddenly, throwing him off balance as he looped the chain through the balcony’s bars before he closed the cuff around Jason’s other wrist.

He kicked Jason’s legs out too for good measure.

Jason glared up at him from his kneeling position. Anger evident in the young lines of his face.

Dick clapped his hands together, shifting on his feet as he settled into his patented ‘Nightwing dealing with a less than cooperative victim’ personality.

“Everything’s gonna be fine Jay. Just gotta get you back to the cave for some tests and then-.”

Jason jolted up against the cuffs, pulling desperately at the military (above military really) grade metal. A wild look swam in that blue-green gaze as he strained.

“No!” He yelled, pulling harshly at his bonds. “No cave, I’m not going back to that fucking cave!”

Shit. That had _not_ been the right thing to say.

Dick knelt down into Jason’s eyeline, trying to get the boy to look at him.

“Jay! Jason, listen to me! We can help you!” Dick soothed, keeping his hands open and within Jason’s eyeline, “We want to help you.”

But the boy just kept thrashing against the cuffs, heedless of Dick’s words as he tore the skin around his wrists. Jason didn’t even seem to notice when blood began to drip down the backs of his hands, too focused on escape. 

“No! You don’t! You don’t want to help me.” Jason’s voice broke on the last word. “You want to stop me! Lock me away! I won’t let you! I-.”

Jason’s voice broke off suddenly; muscles seizing as his head lolled back. Dick shot back up into a fighting stance, spinning on his heels to face the attacker. His eyes met a very familiar bat-symbol covered chest.

Batman.

The Chief Motherfucker of Fucking Things Up.

Bruce stood beside him, gloved arm outstretched and taser in hand; not even flinching as he electrocuted his son.

His fucking _son._

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Dick screeched, springing up into Bruce’s face.

The taser stopped.

“The sedative won’t take if his muscles are tensed.” Bruce said, gravelly voice betraying jack shit about his emotional stance on this, as he knelt, pulling a needle from his belt.

But Dick was _definitely_ showing his emotional stance on this.

“So, you tasered him?!” Hands were about to be fucking thrown. “You tasered your miraculously not dead son?!”

Bruce didn’t even have the courtesy to answer him. Not even fucking looking at Dick as he jabbed the needle into Jason’s neck.

“Give me the cuff key, we need to take him to the station.”

The _station._

Not the manor or the cave. The goddamn police _station._ Bruce didn’t plan on even trying to help his son. He was just going to send him into lockup with the criminals who he beat the shit out of. The criminals who would kill him _again,_ the first chance they got.

Dick threw the key over the side of the balcony.

“We are taking him back to the cave, _Bruce.”_

The man’s eye twitched minutely at his given name, but he didn’t move.

Between them, Jason whimpered pitifully in his drug-induced sleep, muscles seizing through the aftershocks of their own accord. Dick shushed him, taking advantage of his brother’s unconsciousness to brush his hand lightly through Jason’s hair.

Even while heavily sedated, shrunk from a faulty Lazarus Pit and recently electrocuted, Jason leaned toward his older brother. 

And Dick would not fail his brother again.

Crouching back down next to his brother, he drew the spare key out of a hidden pocket, unlocked one of Jason’s cuffs, looked Bruce dead in the eyes, locked it around his own wrist, and threw the spare key away.

Bruce’s eye twitched again.

Dick didn’t give a single flying _fuck._

Still staring dead Bruce, Dick reached under Jason’s knees and back, lifting his brother into a princess carry. He refused to wince when he stood, shoulder berating him _sternly_ – Alfred would _not_ be happy but bringing back his not-dead grandson would probably help his case – kicking the already shattered balcony door out of his way, he entered the apartment.

“Are you coming?”

He heard a grunt behind him, and then glass crunching. Dick didn’t stop walking as he reached the apartment door, balancing precariously with his load as he tried to open the front door with his foot.

A gauntleted hand opened it for him.

Dick didn’t say thank you.


End file.
